Three Corpses, Two Brides
by I am Pickle
Summary: What is TC,TB? Well, it’s a not-so-mysterious murder mystery full of intrigue, dark humor, and randy teenagers all pulled together by a questionable plot line which some people “don’t get.” Also, it's: New! and Improved! and used to be called "Choice"
1. Enter the Lazy Redhead

**Three Corpses, Two Brides**

used to be "Choice"

**AN:** I own nothing, no money being made blah, blah, blah.

These chapters are going to be very, very short.

Also, my writing style is very choppy. I hate transitions and they hate me.

**Enter The Lazy Redhead**

**Ron's POV**

I watched as the ends of Snape's lips twisted upwards forming a not-quite-there smile. "Mr. Weasley," he said softly, "why is it that _you_ are the only one who did not complete the summer assignment?"

I don't say anything because there really nothing much to say.

"Perhaps, two months was not an adequate amount of time for you to complete the _arduous_ task of writing a single essay. Hmm?"

Harry passed me a sympathetic look while Hermione carefully inspects the fabric of her robes.

"Or," he said in almost a whisper "is it because you did not posses the needed resources." His long, white fingers examine my frayed textbook. "I dare say this book may be a bit outdated."

Snickering could be heard form the Slytherin side of the classroom. I feel my face heat up, feel my self-control slipping away… and maybe Snape does as well because he quickly turns away saying: "Detention, Weasley, and 20 points from Gryffindor. I hope this is not a preview of things to come. I expect a great deal from my OWL students. Complete the essay on Askari root by next class."

What a great way to start off the year.

* * *

"Oh. my. God! I can't believe that motherfu-"

"Ron! You know you shouldn't be screaming _those _type of words while were walking in the middle of the hallway!" Hermione said looking around like a rather frightened prairie dog. Harry and I exchange looks as Hermione whispers: "There are first years everywhere." Her eyes scan the hall again. "What if they hear?"

I'm suddenly finding it difficult not to laugh, and if Harry's sudden coughing fit is any indication, so is he.

"'mione, you're taking this whole 'perfect' things too far again." Harry says after getting his mysterious cough under control.

I cringe a little bit. I can't help it. Every time Harry and Hermione talk about their perfect duties I feel like killing some small, defenseless animal. Jealousy is pathetic, I know, but, hey, so am I.

"Well," mione says, her chin held high, "Ron should have at least _tried_ to work on his summer assignment."

Why that self-righteous little. . . "Oh, so your taking that slimy git's side then?"

"Ron," Harry cut in, in an attempt to stop a fight "Hermione just saying you should've known he was going to overrea-"

"So now you're both calling me an idiot!"

"No. 'mione and I are just worried. Stop being an ass."

What little self control I had left vanishes. "Thanks ever so much, it's so good to be advised by the two Gryffindor perfects. You could wait at least a few days before you started kissing up. God, why don't you just pin the badge of yours right next to your stupid scar? At least then people would know why you have it in the first place."

Harry's eyes were suddenly dark and distant. "Sure, Ron. You keep telling yourself that."

The rest of the walk over to Charms was spent in total silence. When we arrived in Flitwick's classroom Harry opted to sit in the front row with Hermione, leaving me in the last row next to Neville Longbottom to seethe.

Yep. It's going to be a great year.

* * *

Needless to say, lunch was a tense affair. I ended up sitting next to a group of third years poking at my food. I definitely was NOT thinking about apologizing . . . Just like I definitely was NOT secretly stealing glances of Harry and Hermione (who seemed to be just fine without me). Anyway, I didn't have to wallow in self-pity for long. Soon everyone was getting up to head for History of Magic, so I followed suite.

When I got to Bin's classroom, Harry and Hermione were already sitting in their usual spot. My chair had been left unoccupied, which, I guess, was supposed to be a not-so-subtle hint. This somehow put me in a worse mood. Did they think I was some immature child throwing a tantrum? Well, I can show them immature. I decided to sit in the back next to some Slytherin engrossed in a book.

The boy's shoulder's tensed as I took a seat and noisily began to take out a quill and some parchment. I didn't really know the guy next to me. He was one of Malfoy's gang; I think his name was Zucchini, or something.

Hmm, are zucchinis those purple vegetable things I don't like or those yellow vegetable things I don't like…?

Class began, and soon I was busily drawing caricatures of me on a broomstick. I did pay attention a little bit (I think the professor mentioned Incan magic, so I drew myself a feathered crown), but soon I lost interest altogether. That's when I began to look around the room. Most of the student, with the exception of Hermione and vegetable-boy, had already stopped paying attention in favor of doing more important things.

Arg, Sooo boring …I ended up putting my head on the desk. Bins droned on and on. His words washed over me, but nothing really stuck.

"…at the Altar of Inti, the sun god…the blood of virgins and feathers were used to form a protective shield… human sacrifices were required…female virgins, ages… In other ceremonies, virgin males… virgin sacrifices…"

"Hmm," My attention was suddenly focused on vegetable-boy, who seemed to be mumbling as he took notes. "Why must they only sacrifice virgins?"

"Come on, they wouldn't kill the ones who put out." I blurted out.

Vegetable-boy's quill stopped dead in its tracks. Vegetable-boy himself turned his head, ever so slowly, to examine me with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "That's funny." He said. Then he went back to taking notes.

Wow, that was so anticlimactic. I went back to examining the wood grain of the desk.

* * *

"…alright class, please place your summer essays on my desk as you exit, you are dismissed." Bins said. Class was finally over, and I couldn't get out of there fast enough. As I was hastily packing, vegetable-boy spoke again.

"So Weasley, have you completed the 1500 word essay for this class, at least?"

"Nah," I replied "but I'm not worried, if the saying's true, then I could just hand in one and a half pictures." A stretch of silence from vegetable-boy told me that perhaps he didn't get the joke. "You know, 'cus a pictures worth a thousand. . . um, yeah."

This is where comedy goes to die.

"Yes. I understand. That is quite clever. Very funny." The Slytherin's face was as stern as ever, his eyes intense and focused.

"Was that sarcasm, Zuc-uhh" I stopped short of saying his name because I suddenly doubted someone would name their child after some disgusting vegetable.

"Zabini, and no it wasn't." He eyes slipped to my empty parchment before he added, "Don't worry, today's lesson was just an overview of chapter five and six in the text; and, the essay probably won't be on the OWL."

Without another word Zabini walked away. I looked around the room again and noticed that Harry and Hermione had seen the exchange. I plastered a 'I'm-so-not-talking-to-you' look on my face, and walked towards the dorms.


	2. Extracurricular Activities

**AN:** I think Ron is kind of into Hermione on some level here… also, I take _some_ comedy stuff from TV and comics (ect.), but I can't really remember where they all come from, so I don't cite. Just FYI.

**Extracurricular Activities **

**Ron's POV**

The day from hell was finally over, and I was dragging my feet while making my way to the dorms. Mmm, there is nothing like a large empty hallway to make you feel like a total loser.

Then, as I was about to turn a corner, I heard some hushed voices coming from an abandoned classroom. I did what anyone related to Fred and George would do: I eavesdropped.

"…it be dangerous. I'm a little scared for you. I'm scared for both of us." It was some girl's voice I couldn't place.

"Don't you get it?" some other girl replied "It has already begun. Things are getting serious. People like you and me can't afford to wait. The red carpet isn't going to roll out for us like it will for people like Malfoy. No, we need to prove our importance…"

"We're going to get caught! We are going to die! What you're talking about is too dangerous!"

"No, didn't you listen to Professor Bins, we just need to acquire the right… protection."

"I hope you are not saying what I think your saying."

"Just one sacrifice and we'll have every-"

What the hell were they talking about? Anyway, it sounded serious, so I decided to peek around the corner to get a better look at the speakers. But just as I was bout to catch a glimpse of the two girls, I hear someone shout out: "Ron!" I quickly turn around to see Hermione standing behind me. She looked a bit stunned, also her usually perfect robes were mysteriously crumpled and slightly out of place. The whole thing produced a sight strange enough to get me to focus all my attention towards it.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione said.

"You mean here in the hallway? What am I doing _here in the hallway_?" I asked. Ummm, was her hair a bit bushier that normal?

Hermione let out a nervous little giggle that reminded me of those prairie dogs again. I decided to end this stupid fight. So, I said: "Yeah, well, I was just looking for you and…Harry?" Strangely, Harry seemingly popped out of nowhere when I said his name. "Where did you come from?"

Harry's hair was definitely a bit more unruly that usual, and his glasses were askew on his face.

"What?" he said. Yet another example of my best friend's never ending wit. "Oh. You know. I was just walking around.. . . Yeah, so, here I am. Here _we _are, all of us, together."

"Um, sure…" What the hell was going on here? "So listen, sorry about being an ass today."

"Don't even mention it mate." Harry said with a smile as he was straightening himself out.

"So…did you guys have a run in with a skrewt, or something?" I said, trying to ease the mood.

"Yes" Harry said at the same time Hermione said: "No"

"Never mind. . ." I said, deciding some things were better left unknown. "Hey lets go to the common room. I hear Fred and George are testing out some new tricks on the first years."

"Yes, let's go right away." Hermione exclaimed "I can't believe they would deliberately break the rules in such a manner. And, manhandling innocent first years…"

Awkwardness forgotten, Harry looked at me and rolled his eyes.

All was right with the world.

**Halloween: (about a month later)**

The world sucks. The world can kiss my ass. And if you think differently, I'll stab you in the jaw. Yeah, just come over and see me; I'll be the guy with the black eye, swollen lip, and dislocated wrist, sitting on a bed in the infirmary, stabbing 'happy people' in the jaw; just come on over, say "hi."

This is shit. This whole thing; and I don't care if I was wrong; I don't care if I overreacted. They were wrong first.

It's been nearly a month. They could have told me. They should have told me. Hell, I should have figured it out myself.

I mean, those two had started spending so much time together. I've spent my life vying for attention from my family, so I should be able to figure out when I'm being ignored. We'll not quite "ignored" more "lets-try-to-make-up-for-the-fact-that-we-would-rather-not-be-here-(and-we-feel-guilty)-by-acting-fucking-weird.

Yeah, it like that.

I wasn't exactly a third wheel, but the vibe I got was off, you know. What can I say; hindsight's 20/20: Harry exclusively showering at the perfect bathroom, Hermione allowing me to copy her homework instead of forcing me to study with her, never waiting for me in the morning anymore, both of them laughing at inside jokes I didn't get, all that "well, were off, you know, perfect duty",… those knowing smiles. That was the worst; those fucking goofy smiles they sometimes gave each other over lunch or dinner or homework or in potions (when Harry was my partner but kept getting distracted by Hermione).

Sod it; this is giving me a headache.

No, wait. I think it was Harry's fist colliding with my face which gave me this headache.

I probably shouldn't have hit him first. I probably shouldn't have called Hermione a whore. I definitely shouldn't have walked to the Quidditch pitch looking for both of them.

Or maybe if I had confronted them there, and not half an hour later in the common room when they walked in and announced:

"Hey Ron, Perfect duty's over for tonight. How 'bout a game of chess?"

"No; that's all right." I had said loud enough for everyone to hear. "Although, I wasn't aware taking Harry's xxxx in your mouth was an outlined part of your job description. I hope McGonagall wasn't too technical when giving out orders, but it sure looked like you knew what you were doing…"

And it all went downhill from there.

I think it was Fred who finally pulled me off of Harry. Skinny bitch, can't even throw a decent punch, well a half decent punch………….

Oh my fuck, what have I done.


	3. Fanfuckingtastic

**AN: **I should point out that the way the chapters breakdown has absolutely nothing to do with the timeline. It all depends on how much I wrote in that particular session. Unless I specify that time has gone by, just assume it's all in the same day…

**Fanfuckingtastic**

**Ron POV**

"You're all done here." Pomfrey says to me as she inspects my ear yet again. "Professor McGonagall needs to see you in her office."

I suppose Madame Pomfrey's curt tone probably has something to do with Harry's broken nose. I wonder if she is being as big of a bitch to him as well. Probably not.

I know, I shouldn't be jealous, but if these asses are going to favor Harry like this, why can't they just change his name to Jesus? It really fits, when you think about it: he saved us from the evil by making the ultimate sacrifice.

No time to worry about that now. I have a meeting with McGonagall. If Pomfrey was that bad, I can't fathom how McGonagall will be. Better make my way to her office at a slow pace, like a funeral march, letting the knots in my stomach further entangle themselves. Yeah that'll help.

Strangely, by the time I reach McGonagall's door, a cold type of calm washes over me, and I realize I couldn't care less what is about to transpire.

I walk in, and there she is at her desk, grading some papers. McGonagall doesn't look up as I enter. Not a good sign.

For a while the only sound I hear is the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the corner of the room. Then the old teacher says: "Come in. Have a seat Mr. Weasley" It always surprises me how a Professor can use a title which is designed to show respect (like Mr.), and twist it to an insult.

She chastises me for the next ten minutes, or so. I can't even bring myself to listen. All I can focus on is the motion of her nostrils as she speaks, moving like a humming bird on her tired old face. Expand, contract, expand, contact. . .

There is a stretch of silence in which McGonagall sighs and takes off her glasses (as if to add emphasis to the sigh). Percy does this a lot; he also chews on the ends of his glasses to announce to the world: 'I am deep in thought'. Even Harry has been known to emote with his specs. I wonder if all people with glasses take little acting courses to help with that, Emotions and Spectacles 101.

Oops, I should have been paying attention; she's talking again.

"…an important year, as I'm sure you have heard many of your teachers say at the beginning of term. Unfortunately, you seem to also be floundering in respect to your academics performance. This cannot continue. You _must_ control you emotions _and_ improve your school work if you wish to have a successful future. Ronald, if I don't start to see changes, I will be forced to write home."

"Yes professor." What a terribly frightening threat that would be if I wasn't sure Ginny was owling Mom at his very moment. She and Hermione are close, I think.

Perfect. Tonight would be just the perfect night for Neville, Dean, and Seamus to be having a late night chat. And what a surprise, the room falls quite as I walk in. Could they have been talking about what a bloody git I was, or how I should apologize to Harry for all that shit I pulled and beg for forgiveness? I just can't tell. Damn.

Speak of the devil. Harry walks out of the showers and carefully makes his way to bead, an expecting kind of arrogant look on his face. Fucking bastard.

Neville's outright staring at me while Dean and Seamus are pretending to do some menial chores, letting me know silently they are all anticipating some sort of apology right about now.

This pisses me off. I can't help it. All I want to do is smash in all their faces with a lead pipe and scope their eyes out of their bloody, lifeless faces. If they want to do this silent dance, they can go right ahead; I'm not.

"Stop staring at me like you just saw the face of the Virgin Marry in a tortilla, Neville. It's freaking me the fuck out."

With that I get ready for bed, humming "You are my Sunshine." I'm not quite sure why.

**Monday **

**Blaise's POV**

All this white makes the sunlight painfully bright; the heat is palpable. I take off my shirt, but the need to shower before dinner is already there...Fuck. These plants need an arid climate, and the Adonis charm Sprout put on the green house is, undeniably, doing its job.

As I'm carefully preparing the hellebore bulbs to be packed in ash, I am reminded, yet again, why I despise Herbology.

Imprecision.

There are materials scattered everywhere: gloves, shovels, buckets, pots, hastily labeled jars. The workbenches are crude, as if they never were, nor did they ever intend to be, free of the soil and other debris which covers them.

A shining spot of red keeps popping into my peripheral vision, like it was telling me: 'I refused to be ignored'. Ron's worn, white dress shirt was unbuttoned all the way down, revealing his thin, milky frame; his hand-me-down robes were lying on the floor.

He is an island of fire among the ocean of white flowers. We're the only two people left in the green house.

The heat is palpable.

His pathetic attempt at completing the assignment is almost painful to watch. It would appear that even the imprecision of Herbology is too much for his temper.

Fuck, I'm out of ash.

**Ron's POV**

Shit. Fuck. Ass. It's too hot, and this is the umpteenth time I tried to get these bloody bulbs to do the foldy-thing Hermione and Neville got right away (then helped everyone else get, but me). I almost got it when…the bulb tears open, rendering it useless…………okay, breathe: two, three, and four…

Counting didn't seem to help. I throw the bulb on the floor and try to murder it with my foot. However, the piece of shit is slicker than I thought and, consequently, I'm laying spread eagle on the floor when he walks over. Oh, and he just had to take of his shirt. Damn that perfect, muscular body. His dark skin is flawless.

I'm still sprawled out on the floor, panting. He reaches into the large bucket of ash without acknowledging my presence, fills his jar, and turns to walk away. As he is heading back I hear:

"You're turning as red as your hair."

Asshole. I'm very well aware of the fact that my skin, unlike his, will never tan (unless you count an increase in freckles a tan). I'm white; not like Malfoy is: delicate and pure; no I'm shockingly white, and pointing that out makes me want to. . do stuff. God it's hot; I can't even think.

"I'm amazed at your powers of observation. Hey, I'll let you in on a little secret, you probably couldn't tell by looking at me: both of my parents are white. In case you thought one of them was a polar bear, or something."

"That's funny." He says, again using that matter-of-fact voice.

I can't deal with this right now. Everyone hates me, I'm hungry, and I might as well start failing Herbology too. I grab my shit and head out.


	4. There Is No god

**AN: **I realize that there is an extremely small amount of Blaise/Ron going on for a Blaise/Ron story. Get used to that.

The first half of this chapter is completely useless. Really, it's just for me. You can even skip it if you want. . . but if you do, I'll know. Just saying.

**There Is No god**

**Tuesday **

Things had gone from bad, to worse, to just short of 'being raped by wild boars' for Ron. It was becoming increasingly clear that this young man needed direction in his life; he needed advice and understanding; he needed…a knowing voice from nowhere to illuminate and spotlight him.

Okay, here we go.

Breakfast this morning was the same hell it had been for the last three days, a dark, fiery hell. Each morning Ron would be forced to watch _them_: Harry's hand on Hermione's knee, Hermione's head against Harry's shoulder. Sometimes they would be laughing; sometimes they would just be talking; sometimes, their lips would be pressed together (and at those times Ron had to look away).

At this moment, the two love birds were feeding each other a bagel.

'That's right, eat that bagel, you wanker,' Ron thought 'eat it up and maybe then you'll choke and die.'

Yes, yes, it was enraging to see his friends together like this, and he couldn't understand why.

Then again, confusion was not unusual for Ron. He never was one to fully understand his feelings towards any situation. Indeed, one could call Ronald Weasley an emotionally crippled narcissist. But one shouldn't do that to his face. The boy has a good left hook, and isn't afraid to use it.

Anyway, there Ronald sat, slowly stabbing his egg with a fork, imagining, as the yellow yoke stained the egg whites, that it was Harry underneath his deadly utensil and not the ill fated child of some chicken (in the chicken world 'abortion'' is also known as 'breakfast').

It should come as no surprise that Ron wasn't on speaking terms with anyone. The, now infamous, fight in the common room, and the subsequent howler from Mrs. Weasley (full of embarrassing details), made it difficult for Ron to distinguish whether he was ostracizing himself from society, or vice versa. Either way, he was indifferent to the whole situation. Depression and confusion had taken over a craving for recognition.

Poor Ron. Poor, poor Ron.

**Later that day…Ron's POV **

I'm late for Transfiguration, so I'm running up the staircase, taking two steps at a time (which is never a good idea, even if you're not Neville Longbottom). But hey, if there is a just and loving god, given the week I've had, I'll be able to detect those bloody disappearing steps.

Aaah!

As my ankle catches in the faux stair and my head hurls towards the floor, I find myself asking: Why does god go to the trouble of creating an existence only to shower it with misery? It seems so very mean.

A groan escapes my bloody mouth, and I don't move for a while; hopefully, I'll pass out soon and drown in a pool of my own blood.

Then, a voice says: "Holy fuck! Are you alright?" Yes, yes I'm fine; I often like to acquaint myself with one sharp stone edge, or another, in this very fashion. I guess this dumb fuck is going to 'save me.' Woo.

Gentle hands cup my neck and caress my back as I'm turned over; creating a strange combination of sharp pain from my face and tingling from my back and neck. I raise my eyes to his; they're intense, focused. Zabini. His gaze is always unnerving; as though he is expertly analyzing everything within its range. I could more easily stare into Mad Eye Moody's eyes, err, eye?

I go to get up, but he won't allow it.

"That ankle is broken."

"It feels fine." I say wiping off the blood from the cut on my face.

"Just as your face does, I assume."

"Thanks for all the concern, but if I don't make an appearance in McGonagall's class, my marks are going to be competing with my family's bank account balance." I often find poking fun at my life makes people uncomfortable enough to leave me alone. Also, it was a good line, and I couldn't resist.

"I may not have an extensive knowledge of anatomy, but I'm certain that a human ankle should not be in the shape of a puffy 'S' ." Zabini replies.

I look down and blanch. My pulse quickens as I realize that this smart-ass is right about the ankle. It's amazing how frightening looking at a disfigured body part can be.

"I'll help you to the Infirmary; …it will get me out of charms." He declares as he gathers my scattered belongings. I'm no longer composed enough to care. I just wait until he comes over to carefully lift me up. Zabini's about 2 inches taller than I am, and can easily support my light frame against his fuller one. I'm too shocked ('cus of the ankle) to speak anymore; we make our way in silence.

It is a long walk to the infirmary, and the modern art sculpture posing as my ankle begins throbbing about half way there.

"God!" I increase pressure on Zabini's shoulder to signal that I need to stop. "Can you do anything about the pain?"

"I could sever the spinothalamic pathway in your spinal cord so you will never feel pain or cold again." Any normal person might have taken Zabini's comment, or its Kafkaesque delivery, to be disconcerting; I, however, found this hilarious.

I'm in higher spirits the second half of our trip, now fully aware of the heat radiating from Zabini's body. His gate is relaxed and confident. I'm enjoying his attention (his touch) a little more than I should.

One thing I always loved about Pomfrey, the woman doesn't ask too many questions when there is pain involved. With Zabini's help I'm ushered unto a bead, and relief is mine at last.

"I'll inform McGonagall, and come back with your work." He tells me while placing my bag on the end of the bead.

"Thank you so much." Out of habit my voice is sodden with sarcasm. "You must really hate Charms, or something."

"…or something." I think I here him mutter on his way out the door.

Confidence; the boy is dripping with confidence, and it seems to pour into every bit of his being.

There is another student in the infirmary about two beds down. Her eyes are closed, but her sleep seems restless. The girl's mousy brown hair is soaked with sweat, making it stick to her forehead and noticeably small chin. I can see that her hands are heavily wrapped before Pomfrey goes over to close the curtain. She then walks over to an angry/worried looking Millicent Bulstrode. Brave woman that Pomfrey, brave or stupid; I would sooner walk towards a shit flinging ape on crack.

"It was Kwa Herini; I…well…some Slytherin must have…err…made her touch it." Millicent stammered. She really seemed worried; probably doesn't want to get into trouble, evil troll. They continue their conversation, but I don't listen.

'My hero' is back fifteen minutes later with some parchment in his hand. There is a tense moment before he speaks. Shit, I should have greeted him or something.

I feel like a hobo at a posh gala.

Zabini eyes are fixed with mine as he talks. "Transfiguration was a review of everything covered last week. I also stopped by Sprout," I cringe at this, "She has someone taking care of your bulbs for today."

Wait, WTF I don't have any bulbs. Zabini seems to read the confusion on my face. He doesn't answer my question; instead he places the parchment on the rest of my belongings, picks up his own bag and says: "You were too heavy handed with the bulbs, and the ash was packed much too tightly. Hellebore needs to be able to react with oxygen." His voice sends shivers down my body like fingertips over sensitive skin. "And to prepare hellebore, one must stroke the bulb, gently, yet firmly." Right now, if you asked me the proper procedure on preparing a bulb for an ash bath, I couldn't tell you, my mind fizzled and died somewhere around 'stroke' and 'firm.'

"Nngh…"

Damn! Damn my inappropriate mind; damn my treacherous loins; damn my pale skin (which allows a blush to be seen so readily). I hope he didn't notice anything.

"Mr. Zabini, I believe you should be heading back to class." Saved…

He gives me a small nod, which I return.

Wait, tomorrow I have double potions. . . with the Slytherins. Damn.


	5. Hot Girl on Girl Action

**AN: **And now, it is time for some **hot girl on girl action**! Which, 4 out of 5 lesbians agree is the best kind of action (…we don't talk to that other one)

Like I said before, these chapters will be short.

**Hot Girl on Girl Action!**

**Wednesday…**

Love has no limits. Love conquers all. Love is the greatest gift, the most powerful magic. Fuck all that shit. I'm so sick of all these romantics. Unfortunately for me, I'm stuck in a school full of hormonal adolescents. And the headmaster? my god, I always assumed people stopped believing in fairytales at adulthood.

Then again, whatever Dumbledore may be, at least he is not a hypocrite. He truly believes in that shit. There aren't many like that (despite what countless people claim).

Her lips are pressed painfully, hungrily against mine while her hands run over my body, hard and fast. She's searching; searching to make sure I'm really here with her, fully intact, unharmed, and it isn't until she is satisfied, that the kiss slows and deepens. A tongue enters my mouth, and hands began expertly removing clothes while still exploring my curves.

For all the talk regarding 'love without bounds', it is astonishing how many restrictions we do put on love; age, physical appearance… gender. We take this complex human emotion, dilute it to a one-size-fits-all cliché, and then search our entire, meaningless lives for it. Is it a wonder so many can't find it?

Five fingers are entangled in my hair, and my head is buried in the crook of her neck; I can smell a combination of soap, sweat, and grass on her skin.

"I know. I understand exactly how you feel, and I'll protect you, always." Her breath is hot and wet as she whispers this in my ear. The words burn almost as much as her fingers do, encircling the most sensitive part of my body. I completely lose all self-control when I come, digging my fingernails in her back in a vain attempt to become as close to her as possible.

I know. I know that love is nothing more than a combination of chemical reactions in our brains, easily recreated with potions or conditioning. But, in these moments, when I'm completely overcome with pleasure, and I can't think anymore, I want her, I need Millicent more than anything, even more than this mind blowing sensation.

I wonder if she knows I'd do anything for her.

**Switch POV: Millicent **

She pulls her head back to look at me, take in every detail of my face. Then, slowly, slowly, she brings her lips to brush against mine. One small hand is pushing me down onto the bead, effortlessly. It never takes much to get me to do whatever she wants. Her mouth is on me and I'm grabbing at the sheets, telling her how much I love her.

I could still see her, bent over the cauldron, covered in that foul smelling blood. Still see the look of shock on her beautiful face as everything started to go wrong. So close, I was so close to losing her.

Afterwards, we're lying on the bead; I reach out to hold her, because of this hunger, this want, I didn't even realize I had, made me. With her head pressed against my chest, breathing softly, I'm so content, and I needed this, more than the sex, I needed this.

I know this is that forever kind of love that everyone is searching for. And next time I'll make sure she's safe. I fell cold as I say this to myself, because I know what it means, what I'll have to do to ensure this. And the scariest part about the whole thing is I don't care.

**AN:** What do you think? cricket chirps Yeah, I can't write a decent sex scene, but there you are.


	6. Nothing too Suspicious

**AN: **Just incase you didn't notice: Zabini is black! Just as god intended, or just as J K Rowling intended. Wait a second . . . is Rowling Jebus?! Gasp I'VE MADE AN AMAZING DISCOVERY!

**Nothing too Suspicious. . .**

**Wednesday…**

**Ron POV**

I'm not looking for him. I'm not. I just _happen_ to, randomly, notice that Zabini doesn't have Care of Magical Creatures with the rest of the Slytherins and Gryffindors. Me disappointed? Ummm…

Anyway, I'm kind of sure he's taking an advanced curriculum, so not finding Zabini here isn't very surprising. CMC's not the most challenging class, by far. Not to say anything _bad_ about Hagrid, but…it's taught by _Hagrid_. Plus, given its history, who in there right fucking minds would sign up for this class? Or even stay in it? Only idiot's, I assume.

So. . . I'm in CMC, and Hagrid's going on about those South American llama-things, again. You would think I would remember their name, seeing as how Hagrid makes some mention of them every class since it happened, but I don't. Anyway, about two weeks ago some sick fuck slaughtered two of the llama-things. Whoever it was, they put a bolt clean through the neck of each llama, and left the carcasses hanging from a tree. Their hooves were tied to a branch leaving their bloody faces a few inches from the ground. I remember when we found them; Harry and Hermione were still talking to me… Naturally, Hagrid went nuts (I didn't even like the smelly things and I went nuts); he vowed to disembowel the person responsible.

There was a big investigation about the matter, but nothing came of it. Probably some Slytherin trying to make Hagrid angry; they think it's funny. Personally, I don't know why someone would mess with a half giant (who has a fetish for animals). That's just asking for a world of hurt.

Seems as stupid as slitting your throat to get some fresh air.

I turn my head to examine the tree where the llama's were found, and wrinkle my nose at the memory. I tell you one thing, llama blood smells foul. For three days class smelled like it was a breeding ground for skunks.

Ouch!

Parvati Patil just stabbed me in the ribs with her wand, and muttered something about not paying attention…I don't really know, I wasn't listening. But, speaking of scents: Parvati has sprayed…no, doused…herself with some berry-smelling shit perfume. I guess it's supposed to attract guys, but the only thing it seems to be attracting is bugs. Someone needs to tell these bitches that we're men not bears, we don't care if you smell like food. Shit, now I'm down wind of her…this is probably why I ended up with this skank as a partner.

I miss Neville.


	7. I'm Too Sexy For My Shirt

**AN:** Draco is going to have a bigger role in this thing later on… maybe, I'm thinking of cutting out his part…I could fill it with random sex. And by random, I mean random. Like. . . Dumbledore and the giant squid. Ha, ha, just kidding. . . or am I?

**I'm Too Sexy For My Shirt **

**Wednesday (lunch time)**

**Blaise POV**

The enchanted ceiling is pouring light into the Great Hall; no clouds mar the perfect blue sky. I see azure, clear and endless. It's perplexing to study, so deep and pure it looks artificial; speaks of a depth that I cannot possibly comprehend.

Azure. The sky pales in comparison to his eyes.

"What do you think, Blaise?" Draco's drawl is as unoriginal and uninspiring as the rest of him.

What I would like to say is 'shut the fuck up.' Childish, I know, but after listening to this egotistical dick for 5 years I'm ready to throw maturity to the wind. Or maybe, it would be better if I rip out his vocal cords and do all mankind a favor. Unfortunately, neither is an option right now; so I settle for: "Come again?"

"Oh, were you distracted by the Gryffindor table? Is it that Weasley girl?" Pansy says as she slips a plump hand into Draco's lap and turns her hideous face towards me.

"Who would be looking at that poor bitch?" …witty as ever, Draco dear.

Encouraged by Draco's response, Pansy continues: "Lots of guys like her. She _is _good looking; I mean, our Blaise is so hard to please, and he obviously likes her."

I suppose 'hard to please' is referring to the fact that I think with the head on my shoulders, not the head in my pants (which is more than I can say for Pansy's boyfriend). Then again, compared to that pug-faced whore, Draco's a monk.

Draco begins to repeats his story, and I realize that tuning him out the first time around was a wise choice indeed. This 'amusing' little anecdote is on the same subject matter as _every_thing out of Draco's mouth: Harry Potter. He can talk of no one else, and it makes speaking with Draco less like conversation and more like enduring word-vomit.

Yet, there is something so captivating about this obsession. I'd like to think of Draco as a pathologist's wet dream. He could be expertly cut apart and preserve in sterile glass containers, so an old man with white hair and poor eyesight can present him to a distinguished audience and announce: "This is hatred. This is what it looks like. This parasite has no other goal than survival. Fascinating how it can dictate all thought and action. Highly destructive, grotesquely beautiful, a truly marvelous thing; I believe it dose more for the soul than any creation of doctoral material."

Draco finishes his pathetic little tale, and I scowl as the rest of his audience chuckles. My mother use to tell me: if you don't have anything nice to say, then you're probably surrounded by assholes. Wise woman; I think I'll sit alone at potions.

I'm sure many would describe the atmosphere in Snape's classroom to be ominous or sinister, but for me the only word fitting this room would be 'stagnant'. The air is stale and flat. Everything within the room is immaculate, even the countless glass jars are meticulously organized. The décor is masculine; with straight lines, sharp edges, and rich, dark colors. Every time I sit on one of the hard wood chairs, a feeling of detachment falls over me; in here nothing can affect me, and I can't affect anything.

I've already unpacked my things when Ron walks in, characteristically late. He freezes at the door and surveys the room. There is, of course, a seat open next to Longbottom, but the disdainful look Ron is sending the would-be-squib is telling me he is not going to take it. Ron's eyes now drift to the empty seat beside me, then move up to lock with mine. He doesn't look away. I answer the silent question by rearranging my books, and he makes his way slowly and hesitantly over to me.

I've often noticed how his shoulders are slightly pulled together as he walks. It makes him look cold. Like he has never had enough of anything, so he is grasping desperately at the little he dose. And the way he eats, always with such hunger and fervor, like the food before him is the sweet ambrosia of the gods and he is starved within an inch of his life…I wonder if he has ever been full, content.

Snape makes his usual theatrical entrance and begins the lecture. Megalomania tendencies aside, Snape is, without a doubt, an expert in his field. His instructions always go above and beyond anything I could find in the library.

Our potion for today is Huzuni Moto, a rather nasty poison and a difficult brew. This is unfortunate for me, seeing as how I'm constantly being distracted by the redhead sitting a few feet away.

We work in silence for about twenty minutes before I realize that his scales are terribly, terribly off balance. Accuracy is crucial to this potion…I shouldn't say anything. I'm not going to say anything…that's not something I would do.

Fuck.

"Those scales are off balance." Don't look up, keep your voice monotone.

"Huh?" Ron spills the newt eyes he spent the last five minutes carefully grounding while he jerks his head towards me. Ron's hilarious, unintentionally at times, but hilarious all the same. "Fuck!" he yells.

Mmm, I know what you mean.

"Your scales ar-"

"Shit, I always forget to check for that. These things are so old…" His face is coloring impressively now. "Stupid potions…stupid Snape…stupid antidote", I hear him mumble under his breath.

"Did you just say antidote?"

"Yeah, the Huzzah Moto, uh, thingy."

"It's not an antidote." I say incredulously. Where has he been the past week in class?

"Umm, wait; it's the one that takes away pain, right?" I have his attention now, but he won't meet my eyes.

I shake my head and say: "No. That's only half right. Huzuni Moto is classified as a poison because it does not simply remove pain, but removes the ability to sense pain altogether by damaging key portions of the central nervous system."

"That would…suck?"

"Oh, it would definitely suck. Have you ever chewed on your tongue after eating those Numb-y Bunnies they're always shoving down our throats on Easter? Imagine that on a larger scale…People who take this poison don't live long, and their deaths are always gruesome."

"I guess, in a way, we're all masochists." Ron says with a wry smile on his face. This thought makes me smile.

"That would be very much in your favor, then." I say.

"Why is that?"

"It has been found that redheads experience pain differently than others, more intensely." From where I'm sitting, the pain seems well worth it… "I'll help you with that. Empty out your cauldron."

"Oh…thanks."


	8. Let's Play Pretend

**AN:** A lot of you may have noticed that Blaise speaks like _**an English lord from the 1800's**_. That is not, in fact, an accident. It is his POV, and the little stuck-up prick likes to think of himself as a mature person. . . or maybe I have no writing ability what-so-ever, you decide.

Also: Grammar be damned, I'm no longer conforming to 'proper' sentence structure! Not that I was in the first place, but you know. . .

**Let's Play Pretend**

**Ron POV (still in Potions w/ Blaise)**

My fingers lightly brush over his as Blaise demonstrates the _proper_ way to stir a cauldron. The place where we touched is on fire, my heart skips a beat, and I'm blushing like a twelve year old girl, again.

This is the fourth time in twenty minutes we've made some kind of contact. Nothing big, nothing notable, just my knee bumping against his thigh, or our elbows lightly kissing each other as we both lean over to examine his notes. You know, things like that, things I shouldn't be so aware of, things I definitely shouldn't be keeping track of.

And there he goes again, unknowingly torturing me by lightly leaning over to whisper a few quick instructions.

"Add the powder now. Be careful, add it gradually, evenly. Don't stop stirring."

I can just barely feel his breath against my skin, brushing over my ear, sending shivers down my neck; suggesting that maybe he didn't need to lean in so close; maybe his mouth didn't need to linger quite that long, inches away from my face… maybe, he wanted to.

Bull shit, of course. I just have to remember this is all a product of my over active imagination before I say or do something stupid. It's probably best to avoid those dark, probing eyes at all cost.

Damned hormones.

Damned sexy bastard.

He's talking to me now, and I have absolutely no problem paying attention despite the topic: stirring and it's relation to the potency of poisons. You would think that his monotone voice (or, at least, his soft, full mouth) would have me drifting, but Blaise speaks with an air of authority and confidence that compels my full attention.

Damned smart, sexy bastard.

Maybe smart isn't exactly the right word, it's more like 'certain'. See, when Hermione or Percy explain a lesson it's clear that they're paraphrasing a teacher or textbook; they are relying on an outside authority and basing their confidence on that source. Blaise, on the other hand, speaks as though he is the expert. Every statement is also a challenge to those who would disagree.

"Will you be trying to get into Snape's Newt class?" Blaise asks without looking up from his work.

"Eerm…" I'm temporarily thrown off by this attempt at conversation. "Actually, my only goal is to make above a T…I believe in setting my expectations low so I won't be disappointed when I fail miserably." I explain.

"I…see." Blaise regards me for a few moments, and I fidget under his gaze. "I think we can-" Blaise was interrupted by Snape standing to announce that time is up, and whatever it was 'we' could do I never found out.

"Prepare your potions for examination" Snape says as he begins to walk towards the farthest table on the right, robes trailing behind him.

Dramatic: That's professor Snape alright. The only thing missing from this scene is the ominous background music. After five years of knowing the slimy git, I'm convinced he is moonlighting as an evil villain in a comic book. Every movement, every word out of the professor's mouth seems rehearsed. The swish of his robes, the hurried stabbing motion of his quill as he writes, his mocking tone, his aloof demeanor: it's all an act, a little play he's putting on for the world; I'm sure of it. I wonder if he practices in front of a mirror or something. Pathetic loser.

Snape's now stopped in front of Neville, and I'm so grateful not to be present for this particular 'performance.' While still waiting, I risk stealing a glance of Blaise, who is currently making some last minute notes at the bottom of his scroll. His dark hair has fallen in his face, obscuring his eyes. His hands move swiftly and smoothly over the paper with an air of importance a general writing out orders might possess.

"Mr. Weasley"

My attention is suddenly focused on the man standing before me.

"Professor" I say in a tone which clearly indicated that I'm ready and waiting for then inevitable verbal beat down. Snape examines the concoction before me carefully. Then, he looks at me and gives me the sightless of nods.

Okay, ummm, what! Was that approval? This was an important grade, wasn't it? I was counting on failing for sure. I'm probably a little dazed by this whole situation since I can't actually make out the word of praise Snape seems to be giving the Slytherin sitting beside me.

I'm vaguely aware of the other students leaving class as I turn back to look at Blaise, smiling like a fucking moron. "Hey, thanks." I say as I watch him stand and gather his books.

"You're…welcome" With his spare hand Blaise leans over my left shoulder and reaches across my chest (millimeters away from actually making contact) to pick up the quill on the right side of table. My breath catches in my throat. He begins to write something down. "The assignments due next class" That sexy bastard explains as he withdraws his hand and begins to walk away. My eyes follow him all the way out the door, and I passionately curse the long black robes which prevent me from checking out his ass. Aarg! Whoever designed the concealing garment should be strangled with their own intestines.


	9. Heart v Brain

**AN: **I don't care what anyone says. Harry is a prick. Read the books. He gets more prick-like as he gets older, but he has always been a prick. Prick, prick, prick, prick, prick. THERE! I SAID IT!

(This statement has not been evaluated by the FDA)

**Heart v Brain **

**Ron POV (still Wednesday)**

Classes are over, dinner is around the corner, and I'm feeling better than I have in a long time. I decide on running up to my bed to drop off my books and maybe change out of these clothes, since they smell like berry-shit perfume (thanks Parvati). Yeah I guess things are looking up. Sure, no one is talking to me, I'm failing practically all my classes, and my two best friends hate me…

Suddenly I'm not feeling that great again, and as I'm taking off my tie, staring blankly at my books, I'm contemplating hanging myself with it. Then, I hear the door open and look to see non other than Harry walk in to interrupt my self-pity part. Fantastic. Can you say awkward silence?

**Harry POV **

Inevitable

Hermione had said it was inevitable.

"It is out of our hands, Harry, always was. We just have to ride it out, give him time and space." she had told him over lunch one day. Harry wasn't so sure.

Dumbledore had always said: "In the end it all comes down to us, our decisions", and Harry believed him.

No, not inevitable.

There is always that moment where you have to make a decision: give in, take what you want or just walk away. There is _always_ that moment. Yet, even after countless hours spent analyzing and reanalyzing the situation, going over every event in his mind, every possible scenario, Harry couldn't find when that moment had come for them. Oh, but he knew it had come; not that he would ever breath a word to Hermione, but he _knew_.

He can't blame this whole thing solely on Ron. He can't be righteously angry at his former best friend or wait for an apology like he had in fourth year. No, this time it's different; three people had a hand in creating this mess, and not being able to blame Ron made Harry very, very angry.

So, when had it happened? When did the moment pass them by? He would like to think it was the night when they shared their first passionate, yet inexperienced, kiss (all lips and teeth), but in reality Hermione and he had crossed the dangerous line of 'just friends' long before that.

It's impossible to pinpoint one moment. The whole affair is just one intricate web: attraction giving way to hope, flirtation losing its innocence, realization taking over doubt… At what time, in what order these things had happened, he didn't know. If they had told Ron, would things have been different? Doubtful. Was what they were doing together wrong? No, of course not. Then why had they hid?

The fact remained: They had knowingly hurt their friend, and he had hurt them back.

This train of thought was doing nothing for Harry's headache or his temper. The silence stretched on between the two boys in the dormitory. Until,

"Harry"

How Ron was able to convey grief, regret, and sincerity into that one word Harry couldn't figure out, but it was there none the less, and Harry was faced with a choice. For Harry and Ron this was 'the moment'…and he was letting it pass.

It should not be forgotten that Harry Potter was human, and humans are not creatures of logic but emotion motivated by pride and desire. So, Harry finished stowing away his books, walked out of the dorm, and closed the door on the way out (literally and figuratively).


	10. Of Pariahs and Opportunist 1

**AN: **I realize the plot seems to be slow in developing, but there is one. I promise there is. In fact, I swear on my collection of Harry Potter opening-night movie ticket stubs!

**Of Pariahs and Opportunist 1**

**POV Blaise**

"I think no other wizard in our history has even come close to matching his accomplishments." Draco says to me in his trademark drawl. "Which is why I told Professor Binns that I'll be doing the history report on the Dark Lord." Draco stops a moment to theatrically wipe some invisible dust off his brand new designer robes (which I must admit, are quite handsome). "and like the mudblood lover he is, he told me I had to pick someone approved by the Ministry. I'm going to inform father of this, of course." Draco stops talking again to smooth out some invisible wrinkles making sure I notice exactly what brand he is wearing.

I stifle a laugh. I want to tell Draco that his robes are enchanted never to wrinkle or become dirty, but I think better of it.

Truthfully, when I saw Draco walk up to me I wanted to duck into an empty classroom. I figured having to eat dinner with him was enough; I didn't need to walk with that oaf to the Great Hall as well. However, I was pleasantly surprised by his topic of conversation. For one thing, it is rather refreshing to hear our little Malfoy talk about something other than Harry Potter. For another, He is absolutely right. Draco should be allowed to do his history paper on Voldemort. He is crazy if he thinks that the professors will allow him to do so, but it is an interesting idea none the less. As far as powerful wizards go, Voldemort was (is?) in the top five. I only wish I had come up with the idea myself. They might have let me do it.

I may not completely agree with the Dark Lord's policy against muggles, but there is much I admire about him. I find muggles annoying enough, but not worth my time to kill. Also, the doctrine that only purebloods may achieve greatness in magic doesn't hold up. You need only to compare Draco Malfoy to Hermione Granger for that. No, Voldemort was definitely wrong when it came to that particular point. But there is still so much to be admired about him.

I mean, he did accomplish something no other wizard ever has. By his own power, he conquered death. Voldemort became immortal. He didn't have to rely on a stone like Nicolas Flamel, only himself. There isn't much I wouldn't give to know how the he did it, including my life. It may seem a little ironic to die while attempting to live forever, but if my life is over in a hundred years or twenty years what dose it matter? If I can't be eternal, what's the point?

Anyway, it doesn't really matter; no one is going to be writing a report on wonders of the dark side under Dumbledore's watchful eye.

"What the fuck is wrong with him?" I follow Draco's gaze; nothing.

"Who is it now?" I ask.

"Hey, Weasely!" Oh, so that's what he was talking about. Ron Weasley was standing in front of the bulletin board wearing only one shoe staring at some poster. I think his left foot is bleeding. "Did we lose our shoe? Are you looking for it in the lost and found because daddy is too poor to afford another one?" Draco's gibes seem to go unnoticed. Strange.

Ron takes his hand and slowly brings it up to rest on the poster. I get a look at his face; it's pale.

Draco gives me a nod, telling me that he is more hungry than malicious right now. We leave Ron and his poster behind.


	11. Of Pariahs and Opportunist 2

**AN: **For those who can't figure it out: this following chapter occurs _before_ Blaise sees Ron in the hallway, and after Harry just walked out on Ron. Why didn't I just put this chapter not before the other one? Well, because, ummm, I said so, that's why!

**Of Pariahs and Opportunist 2**

**Ron POV**

((A few minutes after Harry leaves the dorms))

Fuck!

I'm hopping around on one leg, holding on to my left foot, and performing the universally known dance entitled: "I think my fucking toe is broken!" In retrospect, letting out my frustrations on the trunk was not a good idea. The piece of shit is as hard as lead. Knowing my mother and her thrifty ways, it probably is made of lead; I'm sure I'm being poisoned at this very moment.

The throbbing in my foot begins to ebb away, and I lift it up to examine the damage. It doesn't look good. There is a deep gash leading from my big toe to the outside of my foot. Stupid trunk! I wish I had paid more attention in Transfiguration, so I could turn it into a pig, or something, and then brutally murder it.

Oops. I'm tracking blood all over the floor. It looks like I'm going to be skipping dinner in favor of having a lovely evening with Madame Pomfrey.

Not wanting to be yelled at by Filch for desecrating his precious halls, I limp over to the restroom and wrap my foot up in toilet paper. Then I secure it on with some tape I 'borrowed' from Neville's trunk. There is no way I'm putting a shoe on this cut.

It's all swollen now; that's a bad sign, isn't it? Anyway, walking to the Infirmary shouldn't be too bad. If I limp just right, my foot doesn't hurt at all.

_Ten minute later _

My fucking foot is killing me. I'm fairly sure it stopped bleeding, so I can take off this itchy bandage from hell. Arrrg, I'm not even close to the Infirmity.

Some kid bumps my shoulder as he is passing me up, and instead of getting an apology I get a 'WTF' look thrown my way. I suppose I understand why. I'm not so much walking as slowly hobbling along. Maybe I should move away from the middle of the corridor.

I take a breather by the bulletin board that no one actually pays any attention to. Who can blame us anyway? Usually it is filled with inspirational notes like: "success comes in cans not can nots." Not even barnyard animals can produce bull shit of that caliber. As a rule, if you are ever inspired by one of these insanely idiotic saying, it is best to just kill yourself and rid human kind of your stupidity.

I don't see any inspirational posters today. What I do see are pictures of happy couples holding hands or sharing chaste kisses in the hallway. There is some loopy handwriting above the photos that says: "Cutest Couple in Hogwarts!" All the "i"s are dotter with little heart. Only a girl could be responsible for this; four galleons says it's some fat chick. Fat chicks are always sentimental, unless they're the angry lesbian type. Anyway, whoever it is, she needs serious help. Or a life.

The writing goes on to tell me that I should: "Vote today!", because "The winning couple will be announced before the Christmas holidays. Prizes include…" I stop reading when one of the snapshots catches my eye. It's Harry and Hermione.

They are sitting dangerously close to each other. There is a book open in Hermione's lap, and she is smiling softly while she reads it. The reason for her cute, little smile is clearly Harry. She turns to face him. He tucks away some of her bushy hair, and kisses her on the cheek. My chest feels uncomfortably heavy. I reach up to touch the picture. They look so happy. without me.

God, I really fucked up.

I tear the picture off the board with the intention of ripping it to shreds. But, I end up just stuffing it in my pocket and continuing on my way. Forget Pomfrey; I just need to be alone right now. I start walking towards the lake. Walking, not limping. The pain doesn't seem to bother me anymore. If anything, it is a welcome distraction.


	12. Of Pariahs and Opportunist 3

**AN:** Man that last chapter was so emo. I think I need to liven p this story. Maybe if I add a talking horse named Professor Dinglebottoms . . . hmmm?

**Of Pariahs and Opportunists 3**

**Blaise POV**

Once Crabb and Goyle showed up, I began regretting my decision to leave Ron. This notion was solidified as the talk turned to our favorite hero. Yes, I should definitely leave before I say something I'm going to regret. And I _will _regret it if I piss off one of my 'friends'. Although not the strongest or smartest group, Slytherins are the best at holding grudges. When your world is silver and green logic always takes a back seat to revenge.

Fortunately, getting away from Draco proved to be simple enough. I merely gave him the complement he was practically begging for. It was rather painful for me to watch that smug look on his face, but it was worth it. With Draco exhibiting his new outfit for some other poor fuck, I'm open to leave in search of a certain redhead.

--_Minutes pass_--

Fuck. Ron is not in the hallway anymore. On closer inspection, I do find some faint bloody footprints leading me outside. Unfortunately, the trail vanishes as soon as I'm out there, but I know Ron often visits the grounds keeper, so I settle on taking a short walk in that direction.

I notice him almost immediately. He is sitting by the lake, watching the water as if it were a living thing. His legs are stretched out in front of him; his arms are lazily propping up his long, slender body. Everything about him seems relaxed, content. A light breeze runs through his hair, and he lifts a hand to brush some stray strands out of his eyes.

I wonder if rape is still illegal. Seems unfair; Draco should really get his father to talk to the Minister about that.

The leaves covering the ground sound my approach, yet Ron does nothing to acknowledge my presence. I take this as an invitation to sit down. When I do, he finally turns his head in my direction. His face is still an unhealthy hue of white.

"What are you doing out here?" I ask. Inspired, I know.

"Freezing." Ron's voice is a little raw, somewhat quiet, and all sexy. "Why is it you always tend to show up when I'm hurt?"

"But I contest; it is not my presence but your state of health with is the common denominator here..." Ron gives me a strange look. Umm, maybe I should tone it down a bit."...ahhh, I mean, why is it that you're always get hurt?" I edge a little closer. He chuckles and shakes his head.

"You want to know what I'm doing out here?"

"It wasn't a rhetorical question."

There is a long pause. Then, Ron hands me something from his pocket; it's a photo.

The image shows Potter kissing that Granger girl. Puzzled, I look up at Ron. He is staring back at me; there is something in his eyes I can't quite read. Why is he showing me this picture? Is this another invitation?

Sometimes we only see the things we want to see. I lean in.


	13. Bloody Fingerprints 1

**AN:** i think the pace of this chapter is a little off. gah! I suck at romantic scenes…. tell me what you think, esp what you didn't like about it. i have to do a longer one soon

**Bloody Fingerprints (1)**

**Ron POV **

When I first heard footsteps, I was annoyed. Was asking to be left alone for a few minutes to wallow in my own self pity too much to ask? But when Blaise Zabini appeared out of the blue to sit down next to me, I was more confused than anything else. I waited for him to offer some sort of explanation for his presence, but none came. This unexpected rendezvous should have had me asking what the hell this guy was doing here. But, Blaise's calm, caring demeanor had my mind going down a different road altogether. Maybe, I thought, maybe he was here to help, maybe he understood.

Minuets pass and neither one of us says much. I'm quiet mostly because I don't want to fuck this up like I have everything else. I need a way to show him that i need his help. But how?

"You want to know what I'm doing out here?" I ask.

"It wasn't a rhetorical question."

I don't say anything. Instead, I give him the picture, certain that he will understand. Blaise found me. He found me on his own, and now he is going to take care of me.

I watch him examine the image, then turn to send me a questioning glance. Yes, he looks to be as outraged as I was. This is going great. I open my mouth to say something, but I'm unexpectedly cut off. I hardly have time to blink between the time it takes Blaise to lean in, place his hand on the back of my head, and press his mouth firmly against mine.

Shock takes over my body, and my first instinct is to pull away. But I never get the chance. With his free hand, Blaise pushes me down on my back and maneuvers himself over my body, his knees on either side on my legs. Soon I feel his tongue pressing insistently against my lips, so I hesitantly open my mouth. I feel another wave of shock as Blaise's tongue penetrates my lips. I press back against it.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I know we shouldn't be doing this out in the open, but Blaise's hand tangled in my hair and his weight on my chest don't let me dwell on the idea. My mind is racing. Is this kiss supposed to be comforting? Dose he understand; is he trying to make me feel better?

Slowly, Blaise deepens the kiss. My breath hitches in my throat, and I decide to stop thinking and just enjoy this.

Unfortunately, my world of utter bliss is soon shattered. Without warning, Blaise quickly pulls away, looking out in the distance like a rabbit cornered by a fox.

"What is it?" I ask breathlessly.

"Nothing…" Blaise replies still looking away from me, "I though I heard something." I shift my arms to my side, trying to push myself into sitting position, but Blaise prevents it. "Don't…"he says in a barely inaudible voice. He leans in again to kiss me lightly on the lips. The amount of power he seems to have over me is either frightening or exciting.

"Meet me-" Blaise whispers again, his mouth an inch away from my face. I can feel his words vibrate against my skin.

"Meet you?" I find this whispering to be exhilarating; like we're hiding. Blaise pulls back to look at my face, letting me up in the process.

"Yes, tonight at 11, in front of Flitwick's room. I know somewhere we can go. "He says as he pressed a kiss on the edge of my mouth. A shiver runs through my body. "Well?" he asks.

"Room; sounds good." I edge closer to him, hoping to steal some more of his warmth, but he pulls away. Without a word, Blaise gets up to leave, making me more confused than ever.

"Sorry, I can't stay." he throws over his shoulder.

I watch him as he disappears, then I stand up and head in the same direction.


	14. Bloody Fingerprints 2

**AN: **Finally, we are getting to the plot. Are you excited? I'm excited.

**Bloody Fingerprints 2**

**RON POV**

I'm walking towards the Gryffindor common room feeling good, my problems just a thing of the past, the world and all the people in it just a bit nicer.

In short: I'm getting laid tonight.

By the looks of it, dinner had been over for a while now. Most of the students are on their way to bed, with only a few opting to linger in the halls. Something seems to be going on, though. Little pink and white hearts can be seen floating all around school. Pink and white decor litters practically every doorway and window. I've also noticed a few girls handing out tiny, pink flyers. Not being much into clubs or dances myself, I do my best to avoid these flyer-girls.

Unfortunately, my best is not enough. As I turn the next corner, I nearly crash into a blond girl with a kind face. She too is holding a bunch of tiny, pink bits of paper. Another flyer-girl I reckon, and apparently this one has been trained in the ancient ways of the ninja.

"Hello, would you care for an election slip?" she says with a smile. There is a prominent gap between her front two teeth.

"What kind of an election is it again?" I ask stupidly. Flyer-girl finds this funny enough to laugh at, which is unfortunate because she is _much_ more beautiful with her mouth closed.

"It's for the Cutest Couple in Hogwarts contest." she explains. "Just circle the couple you like best. We'll be picking them up at breakfast tomorrow." she continues with a smile.

We'll fuck me. I didn't think that ridiculously stupid thing would have this much support. Looking over the names on the flyer I say, "Just one question."

"Sure, what is it?"

"Could I cast an anti-vote?"

"Could you cast a…what?"

"An anti-vote. Like if I don't want a particular couple to win."

"Well then, just vote for someone else."

"See, I'd rather not be responsible for anyone winning. I don't want to help any of these people; I just want to hurt one particular couple. So, maybe you can let my vote cancel out someone else's?"

"Oh….umm, hold on just a second. I think I see a couple of friends." Flyer-girl says, no longer looking at me. "Millicent, Lisa, over here!" She shouts at couple of girls walking swiftly passed us. I'm beginning to get the idea that this chick's a little flaky.

As flyer girl's "friends" begin walking towards us, I notice the first one immediately. It's Millicent Bulstrode: the troll-girl from Slytherin. The other is some skinny Ravenclaw with mousy brown hair. I don't think I've ever seen her before; although, I wouldn't recall even if I had. She looks so unimposing, so unspectacular, so very forgettable.

"Hey, I just want to thank you for inviting me to that thing tonight. I'm really looking forward to it." flyer-girl says to her friends in her usual cheery tone.

"Oh, that's great." Millicent reply was so drenched in sarcasm, some spilled on my robes.

"But maybe we should talk about this_ later_, hmm?" the Ravenclaw interjected quickly.

"Oh, right…riiiiight." Flyer-girl says while giving an exaggerated wink towards the two newcomers. Millicent looks like she's about to punch flyer-girl in the face. The Ravenclaw just mumbles something under her breath. I'm trying hard not to laugh.

"Well. We should be going. Goodbye." The Slytherin says thought clenched teeth before storming off, the Ravenclaw not far behind.

"Byeee!" Flyer-girl calls after the two girls.

Oh yeah, big flake.

I managed to get away from flyer girl and head to the dorms without further incident thinking I was safe. Unfortunately, the cancer that is "Cutes Couple in Hogwarts" has also infected the Gryffindor common room. All this pink and white is giving me a headache. No one else seems to mind. In fact, they all seem to be excited about the whole thing. Apparently there is some kind of dance coming up as well. With the headache getting the best of me, I decided to turn in early. I walk into the boy's dorm with lecherous thoughts clouding my mind.

"Hello all." I say as I walk in, but only a long tense silence greeted my response. This knocks me out of my horny daze; I take a better look around. My roommates are standing in the in the middle of the once clean dorm, murder in their eyes. Eerily, all the dried blood staining the floors and stuff _would_ make this a perfect place for a murder. I decide to proceed with caution.

"I… I guess I stubbed my toe earlier. It was, um, bleeding…. I thought the house elves would clean it up." I explain. Hoping to win some sympathy I point at the affected toe.

"The house elves were probably too scared to clean it. There is blood everywhere." Seamus said calmly. Too calmly.

"err…I'm sorry. I'll clean in up now, it's not a big deal." I reply.

"Yes, it is a big deal. Did you go thought Neville's stuff? You ma-" before Seamus could finish, Neville jumped in.

"What did you take? I know you took something; your bloody fingerprints are all over my trunk." Neville was not so calm. In fact, his once pasty, white skin had turned an unhealthy shade of red.

"Okay, Neville. First of all, that's just ambiguous." I replied.

"What are you talking about? The evidence is all here, clear as day." Neville screams back.

"No. What you said: bloody fingerprints. Were you cursing, or do you mean that the fingerprints are made in blood? You see, ambiguous." I could feel the anger radiating off Neville, but I just kept talking. "…err, by the look on your face, I'm sure you meant the former… but I'm just saying, you could have used a better adjective as to avoid confusion. Like "fucking." As in: "your _fucking_ bloody fingerprints are all over the place. Or perhaps, you could have said-"

Finally Neville interrupted my rather pathetic rant by yelling: "Shut up. Shut up you socially retarded loser. I'm so tired of all your bullshit. Everything is a fucking joke to you." Neville's voice was shaking with emotion.

"Good job, buddy! Now that's how you show anger." This was apparently the wrong thing to say.

I never even saw Neville come at me, but I did feel an eruption of pain when his fist awkwardly collided with my left ear. Obviously the guy hadn't been in many fights before, but I had to hand it to him: he wasn't unoriginal. I mean, you never hear a guy being knocked out with a shot to the ear.

Well, not until now.

The pain slowly turned to nausea, and then to numbness…and then the darkness took over.


	15. Why Isn’t This Story Going Anywhere Pt 1

**AN: **I can't seem to get over this writers block. Also, I have the plot all worked out, but I don't know why it's so hard for me to write it all out. Oh! Woe is me!

**Why Isn't This Story Going Anywhere? **

**Blaise POV**

With generous application tongue, he takes all he can into his mouth. I watch his lips, helplessly unable to look away.

My god, that boy likes cake.

"Zabini. Zabini!" I'm knocked out of my stupor by Goyle violently shaking my shoulder. "What are you doing?"

"Watching the horrifyingly, brutal rape of a pastry at the hands of Vincent." I say still not totally recovered. Goyle lets out what could be called a snicker, but I'm sure he has no idea what I'm talking about.

"So, anyway," Goyle says, "that's when I told my mom to fuck off. That bitch can't tell me what to do. Death Eaters only care about power anyway; fucking grades don't matter." Goyle makes an angry gesture in the air and laughs. "Wanna know what I told her next!"

"I can probably guess," I reply "but why don't you go ahead and tell me." Although I want nothing more than for Goyle to shut the fuck up, I'm not suicidal. Crabbe may be a born lap dog, but Goyle only takes shit from Malfoy.

"I told her to go fuck herself." Goyle said proudly.

It takes all my willpower to just smile and nod.

This is ridiculous. I have no idea how I got stuck babysitting the wonder-twins in the first place, and I can't get seem to shake them off. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem. I've long since mastered the art of ignoring Goyle's verbal diarrhea while doing my work. But I'm due to meet Ron in a few minutes, and there is no way I'm missing _that_ just because Draco needed some "alone time" with Pansy.

Suddenly there is a ray of hope. I see Knot entering the common room from the corner of my eye; I gesture for him to come save me. Of course, he just ignores it. Bastard. I make a mental note to jinx his bed the next time I have a chance.

Before I can even send an evil glair in Knot's direction, Goyle resumes with his story."…so she starts crying, but that's not even the best part! My dad comes home, and…" While Goyle drones on, I frantically look for some escape. There's none to be found.

Fuck. I didn't want to do it like this, but looks like it's my only option.

"Crabbe, Goyle." I shout in my best Malfoy impression. I easily capture their attention. "I've got to go. I'll see you tomorrow at breakfast." Two puppy dog eyes look back at me.

"You're going to bed then?" Crabbe said, cake crumbs fall from his mouth with every word.

"Mmm" I answered nonchalantly.

"Okay, we're tired too. Draco didn't say we have to wait up for him." Goyle says.

"No. I'm heading out. You two do what you want." This time I didn't wait for a response; I just turned around and headed for the door. So much for discretion; can this get any worse?

"Going out after curfew Zabini?" I turn to see Knot in a chair across the Common room entrance. I forgot he was even in the room. "That's against the rules, isn't it?" Knot continues.

"Thankfully, it's nothing that you need to concern yourself with Knot." I reply.

Fantastic. Crabbe and Goyle I wasn't too worried about, but Knot could be a problem. Going out is probably a stupid thing to do at this point, but there is no way I'm missing out on tonight.

Throwing caution to the wind, I head out the door.


End file.
